Miss Invisible
by TheSilentPen
Summary: "Take another look at the life of Miss Always Invisible..." Rachel Berry spent a majority of her life as Miss Invisible. She was the loser, the nerd, the girl who ate lunch under the bleachers so she could never feel alone. Quinn Fabray was her best-friend-for-a-day in kindergarten, her elementary and high school tormentor, and ultimately her greatest love.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its characters, nor do I own _Miss Invisible_.

**A/N:** Hey everyone, I'm TheSilentPen, a faberry writer here in the Glee section. This is my first fic since I came back from a month long trip overseas to China (and I am currently recovering from illness)! It's a little piece to help me with my writing block.

I actually got the idea sitting listening to my iTunes on Shuffle when the wonderful song _Miss Invisible_ by Marie Digby started to play. I immediately got hooked writing and this is oneshot is the product.

I sincerely hope you enjoy it, and if you'd like to find out about more stories or just chat sometime my **tumblr account link is on my page**.

I'd love it if you'd read and review the story. Thanks all! :)

* * *

**Miss Invisible**

_TheSilentPen_

* * *

You hadn't meant for it to be this way.

…You never _wanted_ it to be this way.

But it'd happened. It was something so out of your hands. Out of _your _power.

It was cruel.

It was unfair.

But wasn't life _always_ terrible?

Always _unfair_?

Everything started the moment your Mother signed in neat, practiced cursive on the dotted line of a contract written out by Hiram Berry and his then boyfriend of the time LeRoy Johnson.

It was a simple thing, written out in primitive typewriter ink, smearing about the edges by LeRoy's hand. The strait-laced words locked young Shelby Corcoran into an airtight, binding contract that she would forfeit her body to the couple for several months to serve as home for Hiram's most earnest wish—a baby.

A baby that would represent the love he and LeRoy felt so ardently for each other. A love that seemed to crinkle, yellow, and turn ugly around the edges as time slowly edged forward.

A baby to _save _their love and solidify their bond for eighteen years.

Shelby would forfeit her _only_ child—you.

You came into the world as a crying shock of dark hair and wrinkled, pink skin, squalling for love. Your mother passed you into your Fathers' arms without a single qualm and turned wordlessly to start again in New York with your Fathers' money crinkled in the ragged denim of her jeans.

You spent the first five years of your life in the doting arms of your Fathers.

You were spoiled, pampered, and given whatever your heart desired.

Dance lessons were yours as soon as you were old enough to walk. You could babble in tune before the age of one (Papa—Hiram—insisted you be put into singing lessons) and took home trophies before you hit two.

In their attentions, you'd never known cruelty. You'd never known want, sadness, or loneliness.

They rarely scolded you. Daddy walked carefully about you, for fear of provoking Papa's wrath (they'd gotten in more than _one_ fight about how to discipline their daughter on more than one occasion). Papa spoiled you rotten and then some.

But when you turned five, things changed.

Your Fathers debated whether to send you to public school, private school, or home school. They debated fiercely on the subject every night ("Hiram, she needs to learn to communicate with people. Locking her in the house isn't the answer) before making a final decision.

Lima Elementary would be your school for the next five years of your life.

It would be your _hell_.

Because the second your fathers left you in Ms. Marshall's patchy, kindergarten class, you would no longer be ignorant of just how _different_ you were.

The first few seconds without your fathers were quite uneventful. You stand by the door, tugging on your puppy sweater, staring at the screaming toddlers around you blankly.

You twist the fabric between your fingers, clacking your shiny Mary Janes together, biting your lip nervously.

Where was Daddy? Papa?

…What were you supposed to do?

"Hi. Are you okay?"

Confused brown eyes shoot up from the floor, locking with a smiling pair of hazel eyes and a faint, childish smile.

You look about, eyes darting to nearby sprawls of children before you lock eyes with the smiling girl in front of you. It took a moment before you realized that this girl is _indeed_ speaking to you.

She's short (though not as short as you) and darling in a light blue dress with white flowers embroidered into the fabric. Golden hair falls down her shoulders in gentle waves, matching perfectly with the girl's fair complexion.

She's _beautiful_. Like an angel.

Air escapes your lungs all in one heave of your chest, stomach fluttering lightly as a shy smile fell across your lips.

"Ummm…" you twist the fabric in your hands tighter. "Hello. I-I'm fine."

The gold in the girl's eyes fades from her eyes into a bright, shining green as she giggles. "That's good!" She extends a hand out to you. "I'm Quinn Fabray!"

"Rachel Berry," you say, grasping her hand lightly. "Are you in my class?"

"Yeah!" Quinn grins, nodding enthusiastically. "Daddy says it's because I'm all grown up! I get to go to school to learn stuff so I can help at home."

Before you can respond, the teacher calls the students. The two of you dash to the center of the room with those silly grins on your faces, still holding hands.

Ms. Marshall makes everyone it in a circle on the alphabet carpet in the center of the room to give introductions and tell fascinating things about your families.

Noah Puckerman's Dad worked in a band down at the local bar and just gotten 'cool pictures' down the sides of his arms.

Santana Lopez spent the summer with her Abuela.

Brittany Pierce had just gotten a new kitten named Lord Tubbington.

And Quinn Fabray, _pretty_ Quinn Fabray says that her Mommy and Daddy sent her to religious school to 'grow up with God.'

And you?

You chose the one thing that would ostracize you from the rest of class.

The start of something that would take your first friend away from you in merely a _day_.

"My Daddies and I went to New York to see _Phantom of the Opera_," you clap your hands excitedly, grinning. "It was so fun! We got to see the cast up close and I got autographs!"

The class stares at you blankly. You chalk it up to the fact that they're _jealous_ that you saw a play on Broadway at only _five_.

But that's a childish delusion.

"You mean your Mommy and Daddy?" Tina Cohen-Chang asks quietly, looking at you with a furrowed brow.

"No!" You shake your head. "My Daddies!"

Noah Puckerman raises his hand. "Ms. Marshall! Why does Rachel have two Daddies?"

And Ms. Marshall can't answer. She sputters and starts and begins sentences.

But she's never able to complete them.

Because Quinn answers for you.

"I love my Daddy," she says beside you, determinedly. "I wish _I_ could have another one of him. I think it's so cool Rachel has TWO Daddies!"

You smile gratefully at Quinn as the room rumbles about you with discussion.

When you get home later on, you sit at the dinner table and blabber endlessly about your day. About how the kids think it's cool that you have two Daddies, how you played with them during the three recesses of the day, and how you made a brand _new_ friend named Quinn.

It almost seems too good to be true!

…And it is.

Because the next day, everything changes.

You get out of the car, waving goodbye to your fathers with a smile on your face before turning to walk to your class, eager to begin the day.

You run quickly into the playground, your smile widening as you see Quinn in the sandbox, Santana, Brittany, and Noah caught deep in what left the blonde's mouth.

"Quinn!" you run over to her, smiling brightly. "Quinn!"

The smile drops from Quinn's lips and her eyes, usually _so_ bright green, fall to violent amber. Her stance tightens as you approach. "What do you want, you _freak_?"

The word hits you _hard_, so squarely in the chest that you feel yourself stumble, confused. "Q-Quinn, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," her eyes shift over to Santana's as a cruel smirk, one that doesn't _belong_ on her soft, kind face, takes residence on that face, "well, nothing _was_ wrong until you got here."

"Go away, you freak!" Santana steps forward.

"Normal kids don't have two Dads!"

"You're a freak!"

Noah pushes you into the sand with a hard shove, laughing as you fall face first into the grainy, muddy tasting particles. You can feel your knee split open and a bit of warm wetness taint the floor…

And your face.

You look up slowly, eyes stained with tears as Quinn returns the pitiful look with an emotionless mask. You see a hint of green before it fades away to threatening amber once more. She turns on her heel and struts off with the rest of the kids to Ms. Marshall's as the bell rings, leaving _you_ alone.

You don't understand how _Quinn Fabray_, your friend, the person who defended you, could be so cruel. You thought she was your friend.

You thought… you didn't need to be alone anymore, because you had her.

But all of it was a lie.

You try not to cry more when she spills apple juice on you during snack time. You try to pretend it doesn't hurt when she calls you names.

Because if there's anything that your Daddy (he had been Catholic before he converted to Judaism for Papa) tells you, it's to "forgive them, they do not know what they do."

So you choke back your sorrow, you straighten yourself up, and you try to focus on your future.

You choke back the urge to cry to your fathers about the problems, you stifle your tears, wipe off your knees, and you _bury_ yourself in music, dance, and (at the insistence of your Fathers) Mixed Martial Arts ("no child of two gay men should **not** have the ability to protect herself in a conservative state," Papa tells you sternly as you whine about having to drop Jazz in favor of fighting).

The next several years of your life are hell.

Quinn elevates her torture as she becomes _less_ ignorant. She taunts you for being the daughter of 'faggots' (you don't even want to _know_ where she learned that hateful word), ups from juice to milk, and starts slamming you into the playground equipment.

Everyone else follows suit in your torment. Santana becomes Quinn's vicious right arm, Brittany, the charmer, and Noah her 'protector,' of sorts.

By the time you hit fifth grade, you're so used to the insults and abuse, you hardly flinch when you're slammed to the ground or called a "freak of nature."

The day you 'graduate,' you take no time to stay at Lima Elementary.

You clench the diploma in your hand, turn, and leave the campus for good.

Middle school is fairly uneventful. Three years of practicing vocals as an obscure member of the school's choir and practicing in the gym to defend yourself.

Your voice matures, your scrawny figure forms curves, and for once in your life you can look in the mirror and almost be _proud_ of yourself.

At Lima Middle, you're invisible. No one cares whether or not you have two Dads. No one cares whether or not you can sing.

You're invisible.

But it's a better existence.

You're almost sad when you 'promote' from eighth to ninth, because you _know_ that you'll be returning to the same torment you faced three years ago.

William McKinley is Lima area's general school. There is no Monroe Middle to take Quinn Fabray and her lackeys away from you.

To leave you alone.

* * *

The first day of school, you dress in jeans and a casual t-shirt. You want to be optimistic about coming back. Want to _think_ that Quinn's grown up some since you've last seen her.

You think you can get away with one pair of clothes instead of two because Quinn's gotten mature enough _not_ to throw milk, juice, or anything else available at lunch on you.

But just in case, you've brought a spare change to put in your locker.

You walk down the halls, just like anyone else. Binder in your hand, fist buried in your pocket, humming 'On My Own,' you walk to your first period English class with a slight smile on your face.

So far so good.

You turn the corner, only to be slammed into a locker by several fleeing students, covered in dripping, dyed ice. On closer inspection (and smell) you notice it as a slushy that people buy at 7 Eleven.

You glance up to see people scatter as a group of Cheerleaders, swathed in red, black, and white, parade down the hall in perfect formation.

You press yourself against the locker to avoid their elbows as they threaten to hurt your ribs, eyes widening slightly as a flash of gold flashes across your vision.

A teenaged girl clad in the Cheerios fabric stands only a little bit taller than you. She turns to face you as a connection blazes between you.

Her pale skin is stretched across taut muscles and a thin, subtly curved frame. Every angle of her face is carved and chiseled to perfection, even the smallest detail, like every lithe, pianist finger and the perfect nose upon her face. Golden locks are swept into a ponytail, revealing stunning hazel eyes to you.

Hazel eyes which are currently all shades of green and amber with disbelief.

_Hazel eyes_…

Full, red lips part and a smoky, almost raspy voice (so _different_ from that spirited, high voice of your 'day' friend) whispers softly into the open, stale air of the hall.

"_Rachel?"_

You feel your fingers tighten about your binder as you break the connection, turning brown orbs to gaze at the ground.

You pivot on your heel, starting on your way toward class.

You climb the stairs to the second story, heart _pounding_ in your chest.

Because, _God_, it was all ruined. Quinn was here again, which meant _all_ of them were here again.

Which meant…

God, you couldn't think about it.

And if your day couldn't get any worse, Quinn strides into the classroom, Brittany and Santana (now grown) flanking her sides. She throws a glare at you as she passes, hazel eyes turning the _same_ threatening amber as in elementary school.

It begins again.

The slushy comes at lunch, delivered by a soccer jock at least several heads taller than you.

It's a chilling thing, soaking down to your bones and making you shiver violently. Your teeth chatter as you drop your lunch tray, looking up to see the Cheerios laughing at you.

_Quinn_ laughing at you.

But you don't cry.

You _can't_ cry.

You did all your crying years ago.

Instead, you walk from the cafeteria, straighten yourself up, and head outside, in the direction of the football stadium.

You can hear people laugh from the bleachers. Loud, rambunctious, happy laughter that sounds like music to your ears.

You edge slowly around the corner to see the band kids chattering softly to themselves, laughing at the occasional joke.

You want so badly to join them, to say _something_.

But it's lost on your tongue.

Instead, you turn toward the opening leading to the dark, cool place behind the bleachers. You crawl your way through the little gap (you're thankful, for once, that you are so small) and settle yourself down to listen to the conversation playing through the slats in the metal.

And for once you aren't alone.

The rest of freshman year passes just as all your previous years of elementary school did; insulted, alone, and abused.

You focus, once again, on finding your way into your future on Broadway. You somehow manage to get Mr. Ryerson, the pedophilic current Glee teacher, out of the way by sobbing crocodile tears to Mr. Figgins.

The next year, you help plant the stakes for Glee club, paving the way with your voice and adding several… comrades (you can't count them as friends, because they hate your guts as much as anyone else in the school) to the group.

Quinn continues to openly torment you, this time with new insults ("Treasure trail, tranny, and Man Hands are her newest additions), but nothing can bring you off the natural high that being able to sing in school brings.

You continue to eat lunch under the bleachers, savoring the lunchtime conversations between the band kids, balancing sheet music arrangements and studying with your listening.

Time passes by so quickly, you hardly notice when you start to catch Quarterback Finn Hudson's attention.

You don't know _when_ it happened (sometime after Mr. Schue blackmailed him into joining Glee Club, perhaps), but he follows you around like a puppy, always wanting to talk about some problem or other on his mind.

Usually pertaining to his often problem ridden relationship with Sue Sylvester's newly minted head Cheerio, Quinn Fabray.

It's a messy sort of situation, because you're pretty sure that Finn has a little bit of a crush on you and you don't really want to provoke Quinn's anger (you're sure that the Salt N Pepa number Glee did the other week did the other week didn't help).

But at the same time, Finn's a _very_ kind boy and you don't want to hurt his feelings.

Because you've _never_ really been interested in boys.

Now that you think on it, you've never really been a sexual sort of person.

You've focused so heavily on your career, so focused on just making it through the day mentally sound that crushing on someone hasn't even _hit_ your thoughts.

The closest crush you've ever had is the short lived admiration you had for Quinn, and you're pretty sure that's nowhere _near_ a crush.

More like… friendly admiration.

But you notice that you appreciate girls a little bit more than guys.

They're soft and tempting. Different, yet beautiful in all sorts of interesting ways you hadn't thought of before your thirteenth birthday.

So maybe, you muse to yourself during a particularly rough session of Glee, maybe you like girls a little more than guys.

Your contemplation is broken as Quinn Fabray strides into the room, Brittany and Santana at her sides.

And your life just got worse.

Over the next weeks, you and Quinn clash over every minute detail: who will sing what, how blocking would be arranged, and every which thing.

And as you fight with her, you can't help but notice how _beautiful_ Quinn Fabray is.

You can see what makes her popular, what makes all the boys desire her. She can see why they'd want to press kisses to that pale column of throat and leave behind punishing bruises, to kiss those rather full, sinfully delicious looking (especially with red lipstick on) lips.

You can see the appeal, because suddenly, Quinn Fabray makes you _burn_ deliciously in places you'd never _imagined_.

But you cast it aside as a bit of teenaged lust.

Because there's just _no way_ in hell you can like Quinn Fabray.

She's just something nice to look at.

But then _more_ things happen, and you suddenly find yourself testing that hypothesis.

Quinn Fabray is _pregnant_.

The news rips forth from the school newspaper and Jacob Ben Israel's (the _perv_) online gossip blog.

Suddenly Quinn finds herself tumbling down the social hierarchy, stripped of her friends, her uniform, and of dignity.

You see her wander the halls with her ever expanding stomach, shoved into lockers, slushied, and friendless.

It's the perfect punishment.

You finally have your revenge, in some form, you realize as you watch Quinn and Finn being slushied for the third time that week.

But it doesn't feel as good as it should.

Because, like it or not, you've been in the same place.

And it never felt very good.

Your father's voice echoes in your head, "forgive them, they do not know what they do."

'_Should you forgive Quinn?'_ you wonder as you watch her take another fall off the social ladder with the unveiling of Puck as the baby's father. You stand there mutely, contemplating as Puck tries to shield Quinn from Finn's blind rage, his face mottled with bruising.

Before your mind can make that decision on its own, Puck is thrown to the ground and Finn advances threateningly upon the pregnant girl, eyes still very much alive with rage.

He lifts a massive hand to bring it down on Quinn's shaking figure. But before the giant's arm can complete its arc down, you find yourself wedged firmly between the ex-cheerleader and Finn's abuse, catching the limb firmly in an upper block.

Reacting as quickly as possible, you twist yourself under Finn's arm, whirling around before securing him into a half-nelson, digging your fingers into the tendons of his arm and sweeping his leg out from beneath him.

He falls before the Glee Club's astonished eyes as you dig your foot into his back, bending his arm at an angle, to the point of breaking.

"Finn," you say softly. "You can't hit a pregnant woman… and you can't hurt Puck. Calm down."

"They _lied_ to me, Rachel," he growls, fighting for you to release his incapacitated arm. "They _lied_! She isn't _mine_."

"I'm not going to let you hurt them," you say, pulling ever so slightly, making Finn whimper. "I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt, Finn. But I _won't_ let you hurt them."

"Fine!" he goes limp. "Now let me go!"

You release him, stepping back slowly, coming around to shield Quinn in case Finn is not good on his word.

The man-child lifts himself up, face stained with tears. Eyes that are usually soft and kind are frustrated and wild. You push Quinn further behind you as Finn reaches out, pointing to Quinn angrily, his arm shaking.

"I'm _done_ with you," he says, rage barely contained. He grits his jaw, lips trembling as he fights to keep from crying.

"I'm done with _all_ of you!"

He stomps from the room, slamming the door in his wake. The rest of the Glee club shifts its attention to Puck, lying on the floor cupping his bleeding face, closing his eyes and blinking out soft tears. They kneel about him, pressing tissues to the cuts and questioning him softly.

You, however, turn to Quinn. Shivering, teary eyed Quinn, still standing mere paces from where you wrestled Finn to the ground, barely able to hold herself together.

You sigh, stepping forward softly, wrapping your arms about the cheerleader's slight form.

You feel her melt into you, grasping at the collar of your cardigan, shoulders shaking with the weight of too-many-tears.

"Come on, Quinn," you say softly, rocking back and forth lightly on your heels as a soothing mechanism. "Let's get out of here before they start pestering you… Is that alright?"

You can feel her nod into your shoulder, tightening her grip on the fabric for several more seconds.

You offer a gentle hand for her to hold in exchange for her letting go of your shirt. She tentatively takes it, looking at you with soft green eyes as you slowly lead her away from the choir room.

She keeps following you, locked by your hand, till the two of you are sitting on the bleachers, side by side. She hasn't let go of your hand yet, and you don't make any move to remove it.

Because she _probably_ needs this _more_ than you _need_ to let go of her.

You sit there for several minutes in comfortable silence before you part your lips to ask the _first_ tentative question. "Are you feeling better?"

She worries her own in response. "A…a bit."

Brown orbs slide to study a crestfallen face. "…Do you want to talk about it?"

She still doesn't look at you. "…I… not now." Her eyes slide up to yours. "…_Please?"_

You nod in understanding and let the silence fill in the gaps for several more minutes before turning back to her. "Do… do you need somewhere to stay?"

Her jaw clenches and shakes, eyes tearing up ever more. The salty streaks drip down the curves of her cheek and fall to the ground unchecked. "_Why_ are you being so nice to me? I'm so horrible to you, but you're always so _nice_. _Why_, Rachel?"

You nearly shiver at the sound of your name on her lips for the first time in years.

You make a feeble attempt to smile, pushing at her shoulder with a chuckle. "You know what they say? _Kill them with kindness_."

She laughs a bit before straightening her features into a watery smile. "Seriously, Rachel."

"Because you were hurt," you reply easily. "You _are_ hurt and you _need_ help. Quinn, I don't hold grudges and I _certainly_ don't turn down people in need. You need somewhere to stay and we've got a spare room. I _promise_ I have no ulterior motives."

She searches your face, your eyes for any trace of a lie before she nods, squeezing your hand gently. "Alright… alright, I'll stay."

You smile softly before standing, pulling her up with you as you nod toward the parking lot. "Come on, then. Let's get going."

The two of you start walking hand and hand together toward your Prius. You call your fathers to tell them what's happened and they immediately acquiesce to your wishes as you talk in low tones, mindful of the fact that Quinn is listening to every word.

By the time you've settled Quinn in her room after a reasonably hearty dinner, it's been several hours after the incident.

Quinn's eyes are clear and soft as you speak to each other in hushed voices, occasionally laughing at a comment here and there. She ages better than she did before, standing lost in the middle of the choir room, caressing her baby bump with protective fingers.

As you turn to leave for the night, she grabs your arm, making you glance up questioningly.

"Can you…" she hesitates a moment before she speaks up again, "…can you stay here tonight? …I don't want to be alone."

You freeze, looking at her questioningly. Finding no answers, you nod quickly, eyes widening as Quinn scoots over and pulls you into the bed beside her.

She settles her chin on your shoulder, grasping her arms about your waist as you freeze at the contact.

You've only known Quinn Fabray _officially_ for a couple hours, and she's already started to… hang off you quite a bit. You suppose that _you_ would need a little extra attention after an event like today too if it'd happened to _you_.

So you relax and start to drift off to sleep slowly.

"Rachel?"

"Mmmm?" you shift slightly.

"….Thank you."

Pause.

"…You're welcome."

* * *

Your friendship with Quinn Fabray is a strange one.

After Finn's breakup with her and her outright rejection of Noah,, the two of you have become joined at the hip.

Moments Quinn spent between classes taunting you are now spent walking to the next period, giggling under your breath about something or simply sharing interesting things about the day.

Whenever someone slushies Quinn is the _first_ at your side to clean you up or yell at the Jock responsible for ruining your 'slushy' clothing (Quinn was rather surprised to find out that you have an entirely different closet of clothes at home full of _stylish_ clothing instead of 'Rachel Berry' clothing).

Instead of calling you names, Quinn defends you from them, her eyes flashing that same dangerous amber that used to terrify you as you walked through the halls.

She's figured out your lunchtime hiding spot and joins you regularly, whispering about hints in the band conversation or simply helping you arrange pieces for Glee.

It's good to have a friend, a person to lean on and talk to.

But your friendship confuses you.

Because sometimes it feels like your crossing over the line between 'friends' and 'something more.'

Because friends, your pretty sure, don't study every possible hue that their friend's eyes change. Friends don't study every curve of their ex-enemy's body. Friends don't think about how wonderful their friend is whilst stroking back locks of stray hair out of sleepy eyes.

…Friends don't wonder what it's like to kiss other friends.

And you're pretty sure you wouldn't be thinking _any_ of the above if Quinn hadn't been giving you a little of 'encouragement.'

You see the way her eyes play up and down your body. You see how dark hazel can go after you sing a particularly challenging song. You _know_ she's looking at your lips, studying them.

And you're _never_ the one to instigate hugs and handholds.

_Quinn_ is.

Everything is too much too fast. You're just adjusting to this 'sort-of-possible-maybe' crush and Quinn is going to have the baby of her ex-boyfriend's best friend who also happens to be madly in love with her (if you think the message behind Puck's 'I'm so wounded' puppy dog eyes are).

It's a messy situation (you seem to have a knack for getting yourself into those sorts of things) and you'd rather not ruin things for Quinn.

So you try to pull away a bit the few months of Quinn's pregnancy. You divert yourself with martial arts, blurting out '' in one long, messy sentence whenever Quinn tries to spend 'alone time' in your room with you.

You hide beneath the bleachers after telling her you have to go to meetings, or you just hide in the bathrooms.

It's ridiculous and you can see it's hurting Quinn with every wounded glance she sends your way, but you really have _no_ choice if you want to take away temptation and maintain your sanity.

But soon enough, little Beth Marie Berry-Fabray (you'd been _more_ than shocked to see your last name on the birth certificate) is a little wriggling bundle in a bassinette placed beside Quinn's bed whilst you stand awkwardly in the corner of the room whilst others congratulate Quinn.

Quinn opts to give Beth away to a loving couple a few blocks away from the Berry house (the O'Sullivans are unable to have a child themselves and are grateful for little Beth's presence in their life—they even keep her name exactly as on the certificate to show their appreciation) rather than keep her, despite the fact that Rachel can see the longing in her eyes.

But now that Quinn is no longer pregnant, you're no longer sure if she'll _want_ to be friends. Now Quinn Fabray can go back to the 'top.' She can become a cheerleader again and forget that _anything ever_ happened.

She can forget about late night movies, morning laughter over pancakes, lunchtime smiles, and intimate dinners.

She can go back to forgetting you again. To _hating _her.

The first day Quinn gets back, you avoid her. You walk with your head down between classes, ignore questioning glances of hazel eyes, and _actually_ pretend to care about World History (despite the fact that you hate it with the burning passion of a thousand suns).

And when lunchtime comes, you hide yourself away under your bleachers, staring out through the slats at the clear blue sky, mind devoid of any coherent thought.

The crunch of sandals against twigs draws your attention to the entrance of your sanctum. You grit your teeth, ready to shout 'go away' until the assailant comes close enough for you to see pale skin, golden hair, and hazel eyes.

You sigh before turning to face the metal seats, staring out the slats once more as you hear Quinn settle beside you. Her hand rests inches away from your own, twitching as though she wants to grab your hand.

"Where've you been today?" Quinn asks quietly.

"School," you answer stiffly.

She sighs. "That's _not_ what I mean, Rachel…" She pauses. "You're avoiding me. You won't talk to me. We haven't _really _talked in three months. What's going on?"

"I've been busy."

"That's not true."

"It is," you answer succinctly. "And right now I'm working on sheet music, so I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

"Where's the sheet music then?" she asks.

"In my head."

"For God's sakes Rachel," she puts a hand on your cheek. "_Please_ look at me. Just for a while, _please_ just _look_ at me and tell me what the hell's going on."

You turn your head, locking eyes with tearful hazel, momentarily flabbergasted as they form tracks down perfect cheeks. "Quinn… don't cry."

"_Cry?"_ she laughs. "Don't tell _me_ not to cry, Rachel! I don't know what's going on with you. A few months ago, we're the best of friends and now you're pulling away from me when I need you most. _I _can't fix you because _I_ can't fix myself.

"I just…" she swallowed heavily. "I _need_ you, Rach. I'm sorry if I did something wrong… but… _please_ tell me what happened."

You take a moment to study her before lifting a trembling hand to wipe away the tears on her cheeks before taking her hand gently and kissing it softly, brown eyes going soft. "I'm… alright, Quinn. I've just been scared."

"Scared?" she echoes brokenly. "But _why?_"

"Because you can pretend this _all_ didn't' happen," you whisper, closing your eyes. "You can pretend you never met me. You can go back to tormenting me… I just… I didn't want to get hurt."

Her hold tightens around your hand as she holds it to her chest. "Oh, Rachel…. I don't think I'd ever go back. I don't _want_ to."

"You pretended to do it once," you say brokenly. "You told me that you were my friend and then the next day you weren't. You became ugly and disdainful."

Sorrowful green looks back at you. "_Rachel_."

"I don't want that you happen again, Quinn," you murmur. "So if you're going to _break_ me… just _do it_ now."

You close your eyes, breathing, waiting for the blow. Instead, a hand cups your cheek gently, never releasing the one against her chest.

"_R_achel, _look_ at me," she says softly.

You gather the courage to look into her own eyes as she smiles softly.

"I would never hurt you like that again," she whispers softly. "You meant so much to me back then. You were the first friend I ever had."

"So why did you…?"

"My father," she says slowly, pain etched into her features. "My father told me I could have nothing to do with you… so I did the only thing I _could_ do to keep you in my life… I… I bullied you.

"Then you showed up at McKinley," Quinn whispered, "and my _God_ you were beautiful. So beautiful and you _sounded_ beautiful. I wanted you in my life again, any way I could, so I… old habits die hard.

"Then I got pregnant and everything went to hell. You came back into my life again after Finn and I broke it off," Quinn continued. "And God, Rachel, you made me feel so _special_… you _do_ make me feel special. You made everything so much better."

"Same here," you murmur softly, heart beating heavily in your chest.

"No, you don't understand," Quinn says, leaning forward slightly. "You… I…"

You can feel her breath ghosting against your lips as you shudder. Her hands are cupping your cheeks, stroking them softly as she looks into your eyes with the most _beautiful_ eyes in the world; chips of malachite and jade, little emerald starbursts here and there.

"I love you," she breathed against you before closing the rest of the distance.

The kiss starts off chaste, just the touching of lips against lips, making your brain fizzle pleasantly and stealing the breath from your lungs.

You separate briefly as she searches your face for an answer.

"I love you too, Quinn," you whisper softly, pulling her back in. "God, I love you."

The second kiss is deeper, more than just a brush of lips. You feel her push you back against the metallic wall, her hand lost in your hair as you tug her against you. There's a slight slide of tongue and the taste of mint lip balm fresh on your tongue.

You slide your hands together as you continue, linking fingers. Curve against curve, everything in perfect alignment.

It feels more emotional than physical. A perfect connection.

By the time you separate, gasping against each other, your lips are swollen and there's a certain darkness in Quinn's eyes as she straightens messy hair.

You pant, closing your eyes, shaking your head, and running your hand through your hair.

Brown orbs flutter open as you smile softly at Quinn. "So… uhm… does this make us…?"

"Girlfriends?" she interjects. "I'd like us to be…" she blushes for a moment. "I mean… if that's alright with you."

"Alright," you say as she draws you into her arms. "I can do that."

You are silent after that, letting her hold you in her arms as time slowly marches forward.

By the time you and Quinn leave the bleachers holding hands, the school day is well over and it's time for Glee.

When the two of you reach the room, Quinn throws a faint smile back at you, kissing your cheek softly and whispering a soft 'I love you' before heading into the room.

You stand there at the entrance, smiling at the crazy antics of the people within and the girl that _maybe_ you've loved since you were five.

And life is good.

You're not lonely, you're not sad.

You're no longer Miss Invisible.

* * *

**A/N:** That was a fun write for me. I hope you enjoyed it. I'd love it if you'd **read and review** the fic for me if you have the time. And if you'd like something else of mine to read, I do have a multichapter in progress called _Just A Kiss_ that might be good (shameless self promotion) *cheesy grin*


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